She said she'd rather be a bag lady.

"A woman's mind is as complex as the contents of her handbag; even when you get to the bottom of it, there is ALWAYS something at the bottom to surprise you."

Thrill Of The Fight.

One Week.Smoke Free.Don't.Fucking.Bother.Me.

Fall finally.
New York fall.
Cold beautiful greys and browns.
Layers and layers.
Cashmere on Lace.
Wellies and socks.
Chelsea hunters, for the Chelsea lovers.
Out with the denim shorts, in with the baggy boyfriends.
Out with the summer fling, in with the winter cling.
Cling as in cuddle.
Someone to carry you over the puddle.
Or through it in your Chelsea wellies.
Baileys and coffee in the morning.
Warm your bellies.
Out with summer in with winter.
Forever a head spinner.
Never been thinner.

Hometown Glory.

Canadian Tux.

I gave thanks yesterday.
Thankful for all that is and all that was.
All that will soon be, mostly.
 Before I was waiting, anticipating.
I let go.
And then I was let back in.
Back into you, around you, beside you.
No longer behind you.
No longer in your shadow.
You are only in my light.
Left the only darkness I knew.
Back there.
Over there.
4,000 km's over there.
Don't stare.
I won't blink, I've played this game too many times.
Close my eyes and your gone forever.
Take a step back, Step back together.

Excuse me a second I, I need to get my story straight.

It's that moment during the morning after the night before, when anxiety sets in.
I laugh out loud in a desperate attempt to reassure myself that everything is fine.
That there is no way I embarrassed myself last night.
Then my cell phone beeps, the ever nauseating Tri-Tone.

Sure enough my drunken, idle hands were up to no good.
Knowing my sober self all too well, drunk me deleted the evidence before morning.
All that was to be seen was the confused responses that were returned to me.

Good, perfect, I'm sure I was coherent.
3am texts are totally normal.
I wasn't drunk I was just playing scrabble through texts, obviously.

My mind wanders, yep I for sure texted him.
Probably regarding the "heated" conversation I was having about New York men, whilst sipping my third Jack and Ginger.
Screw it, delete.
Shit.
Serious move, I must mean business.
Immediately I regret the decision.
No longer in my contacts, I can only wait.
And wait.

Now.

Above all else keep moving forward.
Don't be stagnant.
Don't allow your hands to be idle.
When your still, the thoughts flow.
So be still, just don't stand still.

So many people come here to be themselves.
To fully realize their potential.
One after another it engulfs them.
Drains them.
Until their dreams are fleeting thoughts.
Memories of a once "great idea."
"Maybe one day," on repeat.

Don't let rent take you over.
Don't let happy hour make you sad.
Don't let those who are fearful instill it upon you.
Don't let your parents talk to to you about a 401k.

Allow your free time to be free.
Free to create.
Free to put your dreams on paper, on canvas, wherever you choose.
Choose art.
Always.